


Fierce Little Thing

by hiddencait



Category: Black Sails
Genre: F/M, Kink Meme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-11 05:45:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8956777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hiddencait/pseuds/hiddencait
Summary: Charles comes home to find his lover waiting for him in their bed.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MoonHowler](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoonHowler/gifts).



> Response to Black Sails Kink Meme Prompt: 
> 
> Charles Vane/Abigail Ashe Fluffy Smut  
> So, I noticed that there is no Vane/Ashe porn anywhere I can find it, and this makes me sad. Would any of you lovelies be willing to write me some? Just, fluffy smut. No BDSM, no spanking, my only special request is that there be lots of sweet/dirty talk. Thank you!
> 
> ...I didn't manage to put in any dirty talk sadly as neither of these two apparently felt chatty in bed, but hopefully it's still fluffy enough for you OP as well as being as close to in character as you can get when it's Vane & fluff LOL

Charles kept silent when he entered the room, but he knew the occupant heard him enter. She lay on her side facing away from the door with one hand under her pillow where she kept the knife he’d given her. He knew too that if he could see her face, he’d see those dark eyes open and glittering in the moonlight from the window, her brow furrowed as she waited for some sign of whether or not the person in her bedroom intended her harm.

 

Charles knew if he didn’t announce himself before stepping closer within moments that knife would be at his throat, the diminutive woman proven to be more of a fighter than any stranger would guess. For a moment, he mulled over the idea of keeping silent, drawn to the image of her surprising strength as he always was. The tense set of her shoulders changed his mind, however. He knew better than anyone how she dreaded moments like these. What might be a thrill for him would be cruel to her.

 

He was a pirate sure, but even he wasn’t that cruel. Not to her. Never to her.

 

“Abigail,” he said softly, his graveled voice just above a whisper. “It’s me.”

 

Her breath left her in an audible rush, and she rolled over to face him, knife left sheathed under the pillow as if she’d never drawn it at all. His lips twitched at that; her friendship with Jack made a sort of sense with their paired enjoyment of all of the ‘arts’ or so Jack called such frippery, but it was her tentative comradeship with Anne that yielded the best results in Charles’s opinion. He hadn’t asked Anne to train the girl when he’d returned to Nassau with her from Charles Town, dress torn and scorched by canon fire and stained with the blood of someone she refused to name, but the red-haired fury had taken one long look at Abigail and then offered up a blade with nary a word.

 

That Abigail hadn’t hesitated to take it said a great deal about the mettle of his accidental protégé.

 

He’d wondered about her before when he’d kept her celled, intending her to earn him a ransom his former love ensured he never collected. He’d captured men who’d raised more hell than that sheltered girl, men who’d begged for mercy and promised riches for their freedom, men who whimpered in fear whenever he’d approached. Abigail had offered none of that, stoically eating the shit they gave her and giving a sad sort of truth about her father’s regard, or lack thereof, for his daughter. And the way she’d responded to his news of Ned Low’s death… well, that reaction had raised his eyebrows. Charles had to respect that kind of dark joy at a murder, especially from one such as her. In truth, though he’d killed Low for Eleanor, he’d been glad to give that news to his surprisingly bloodthirsty captive. She’d intrigued him then, and he almost wished he could go back and kill Low once more, just to see that look in her eyes again when he told her of the death.

 

That respect and intrigue had been the reasons he saved her later in Charles Town, gutting the soldier who fought with her over a rifle. She’d ignored the soldier as he fell at her feet, instead pinning Charles with that same steady dark gaze he’d seen in the cell. She’d said only four words to him then.

 

“I won’t die here.”

 

They’d been all she needed to say. A weak and shelter child would have slowed him down, but a survivor he’d fight for, a survivor he’d take with him. So he did – tossing her the rifle the soldier had dropped and instructing her to use the bayonet to keep any attacker at a distance. She’d done as he instructed and kept close behind as they fought their way through the streets to the launch, ignoring Flint’s confusion at her appearance just as she had the soldier’s death throes. She’d stayed quiet and out of the way once they reached the ship, and he’d made damn sure neither his few remaining men nor Flint’s would dare to touch her.

 

Not that Flint’s men would have, he’d been near amused to realize. At some point on her journey back to Charles Town in Flint’s company, she’d managed to charm most of the men in her quiet way. Put them in mind of sisters or daughters they might have had if they’d stayed shop keepers or farmers or whatever the hell they were before they went on the account. Put them in mind of something to be protected, cherished in a way the whores they carried on with never could be.

 

Now, he understood those sailors more than he’d guess though fuck if he’d admit it out loud to anyone but her. Or to Jack, he supposed, if they were both deep enough in their cups.

 

Charles shook his head, chasing away the reverie and closing the door behind him now that he knew the click of the latch wouldn’t startle her into a nightmare. Strong though his Abigail was, trauma left its mark on her. Charles would never begrudge her that. He stripped off his shirt wearily and took the few slow strides to the bed.

 

“The prize?” her quiet voice asked, and he nodded once.

 

“Profitable and taken without too much effort.”

 

“Any losses?”

 

“Minimal. That idiot Welch lost his head and fell overboard, but no other deaths.” He shrugged, and she nodded. They’d discussed the man’s lack of nerve and lack of swordsmanship before, Abigail watching the men at practice with him in-between training sessions with Anne. Charles had come to welcome her insight, offered sparingly though it was. She had a good eye for the men and their strengths and weaknesses, he’d found.

 

She herself wasn’t ready to join them on the account, not yet, though Anne said it would be soon. Part of him wondered if taking the former gentlewoman out to sea was wise, but another part felt a sharp spike of desire at the thought of her battling beside him. They would see how her first prize went, if she shocked him by giving in to fear and faltering, but he doubted it. No, there were fewer risks to her joining the crew than might have been for another woman. He knew the men wouldn’t fucking touch her; that was a certainty. Any man who tried would pull back a bloody stump long before Charles intervened, and if he didn’t see the incident, Anne surely would.

 

Either way, his Abigail would fight back, and he wouldn’t bet against her. At the thought, another spike of want burned in his belly, and he moved right up to the bed, knowing his steps had turned to a stalk.

 

Abigail had risen to her knees as the door shut, and her eyes were dark now with the expression he’d grown most fond of. His fierce little wanton thing, he thought fondly. As if in response to the thought, she lunged at him, wrapping her slim fingers about his shoulders and latching her mouth to his.

 

Charles hadn’t expected this, he mused, mind lost to coherency as he sank into the kiss. He hadn’t considered her that way, not in the cell as a prize worth more untouched and thus near sexless, an object to be bartered to her father for coin, and not even in Charles Town where she still more an ally if not a curiosity, a strange violent creature tucked into the dress and petticoats of a proper lady.

 

No, despite what some of Nassau surely thought, Charles hadn’t brought the young Miss Ashe back from the ruined port city to be his personal prize.

 

Abigail moved her mouth to nip at the line of his throat, pulling a growl from him as he tilted his neck back, allowing her to bite him again and again, a pleased hum pulled from her lips as she did. Her busy little hands attacked his belt and the buttons of his trousers before sliding beneath to wrap her hands around the prize she’d sought. Charles groaned and reached for her hips and hair, gripping both tightly, but just this side of causing pain.

 

She didn’t mind a bit of roughness, but pain wasn’t even a bit of pleasure for her, not like it had been with… He groaned again as Abigail squeezed his cock once, pulling his mind back away from a certain blonde and back to woman here and now. She lifted her head to meet his eyes, a knowing look gracing her lovely face, and he could only shrug ruefully.

 

Abigail knew his past, knew his secrets, too, and for once, he didn’t doubt someone would keep them.

 

She squeezed again, then slide her hand into one long stroke before picking up a rhythm that had his eyes slipping closed, his whole being focused on her, only her. He’d known she couldn’t have much experience, though she’d never told him if she was a virgin that first time when she’d taken it upon herself to crawl straight into his lap and tell him to take her to bed. Charles never asked her either, then or since. Regardless, whatever she lacked in practical experience, she’d easily made up for in sheer enthusiasm. His Abigail was as quick as study here in their bed as she was sparring with Anne, too. He’d had ample chances to enjoy that about her.

 

Her hand finally slowed and then left his cock, and his eyes eased open to watch her pull her nightdress up and over hear head, baring her to him completely. As always, he allowed himself a breath to simply look at her, at what she offered him willingly and without hesitation. He let his eyes slide over her pale skin and the way it contrasted with the thatch of dark hair at her sex and the rosy hue of her nipples, hardening to peaks under his gaze, at the slim lines of her throat and arms, and the deceptive strength of her legs and hips.

 

As always, the look of her reminded him that she was too young for him, and looked younger even than Eleanor had been when they’d started their long ago dance, young enough that part of him almost felt guilty for sharing her bed.

 

Almost.

 

Never mind how young she looked, he knew she was older than she appeared, and aged older still than her years by the life she’d survived thus far. And in any case, Abigail had chosen him, after all, declared it for all to see with that steady grace that left no one doubting her mind had been made on the matter. He doubted he’d ever meet a man who could deny her a choice once she’d made it. He certainly wouldn’t be the first to do so.

 

No, he’d join her here in their bed every time for as long as she allowed it, drawn to the siren song of those dark eyes and the core of strength hidden within her.

 

Charles pulled her in for another long slow kiss lowering her back to lay on the bed without ever breaking the kiss. He broke it only long enough to remove the rest of his clothing before crawling up to join her, hovering over her to lick and nip at her neck and her breasts and she writhed beneath him, an image of desire he hoped would burn itself into his mind, chasing away other darker memories until nothing was left but his Abigail.

 

Desire to be in her surged and he forced himself away from her skin long enough to reach down and line his cock up properly and the slide smoothly in, her own desire slicking the way for him.

 

Some nights he’d indulge in his need to taste her, to drive her to speechlessness with his mouth and hands until she wailed for him. But tonight he just needed her, needed to be as close to one with her as he possibly could.

 

Abigail seemed to agree, her legs wrapping around his hips, and her busy hands pulling him closer ever closer as if trying to pull him into her skin.

 

They moved together slowly, savoring the sensation of being so closely intertwined.

 

Charles couldn’t help again comparing this partnership, this _oneness_ , to the love he’d thought he’d had before. This wasn’t a battle, not a competition between two souls would couldn’t help but strive to best the other, no matter the heartbreak it caused or the blood they spilled between them.

 

No, Abigail never sought to fight with him, never sought to _win_ as if that was the sole reason to be in his bed.

 

Instead it was _their_ bed, their home, something Charles had never truly believed he’d ever find.

 

Beneath him, Abigail gave a soft hitched gasp, a sure sign she was close to coming, and Charles reached between them to drive her there, determined to hold off until she reached her peak. His thumb rubbed against her once, twice, and on the third, she choked out his name, body bowing up and curling around him then going limp and languid all at once.

 

He caught her lips for another kiss, smirking down at her as she giggled helpless, caught in the aftershock of her orgasm. Then he shoved himself up on his knees, pulling back and diving back into her harder and harder, forcing himself to chase his own finish, lost in anything but her.

 

Only her.

 

Charles couldn’t manage to say her name when he came, but her hand on his face said he didn’t need to. He slipped out of her with a groan and then sank down to rest his head between her breasts, curling his arms under her, going boneless at the thread of her fingers through his long hair.

 

Come morning, they’d face the day and her doubters, but for now, he could sleep, knowing they’d keep each other’s dreams from disturbing the comfort of their bed.

 


End file.
